Unexpected
by mysticxf
Summary: Falling in love with the Doctor is difficult. Living a lifetime with him is another story. (A collection of moments [AU!] from Clara's POV.)
1. Chapter 1

_Small Warning: Mature Content in this chapter..._

* * *

It happens far faster than she thought it would; far faster than she would have liked – the passing of time. Her mother never got the chance to explain the way things worked in the world. The way time was supposed to flow and things were supposed to happen. And before she knew it, time had flown. Flown so fast she couldn't keep track of it anymore, but she didn't mind.

He's sitting next to her, legs dangling off the edge of the platform, occasionally knocking into each other, and he's holding her hand while he tells her about the way the sun sets on the mountains in Gallifrey because she asked – she wanted to know where he was from and every time she asks, he gives her something new. And he does so with a wondrous look in his eyes and an eagerness to share, to include her in his world, as his hand closes tighter and he gazes over her face.

Sometimes she remembers it, when she's asleep – just like she does all of her past lives. There are spires reaching into a burning sky through the glass dome and she walks among them, making her way cheerfully to the Tardis factory to guard over the vessels and occasionally repair them. She worked on his Tardis personally, upgrading and smirking at the quirky flaws in its operating system.

Maybe she put them there, an extension of herself, for reasons she doesn't quite understand on the surface, and when the Doctor arrives to steal a Tardis, she approaches him with a playful spirit – it's the Tardis she would have taken. And then she wakes with a smile and that time is gone. Just like all of the rest. She wishes she could hold on tighter to the memories, but he's told her if she does, she could lose her mind, so she leaves it all in dreams.

"I wish I could show it to you, Clara," he ends with a sad sigh. It's his home and it's gone. Time locked, she remembers, and he'd done it to save the universe. "Why are you crying?" The question is sudden and pained and she feels his thumb rub over her cheek before her vision comes back into focus and she smiles up at him, sniffling lightly and shaking her head.

"You gave up your home. Everything."

For the universe.

"You did the same," he reminds with a grin.

To save him.

He pulls her to her feet and he's leading her closer to the console, hands already slapping at the buttons and twisting knobs and she stops him. Because she doesn't want time to move so quickly. She wants him to stop. To slow down. To look at her again. So she takes his hands and she stares at them. Really stares at them.

They're soft, but they're worn. And they're open to her, allowing her to explore them because she's suddenly terrified and she doesn't want to look up and see what's in his eyes – what's written on his face. This will end, she knows. They will end. He's over a thousand years old, for crying out loud, and she knows there have been dozens of others before her and there will be dozens after.

So she wants time to stop. She wants time to stand still and not budge an inch so she can be frozen in this moment with him. And she can't breathe because it's too painful to think about. Clara understands why he hates good-byes; she's never been very good with them herself. But things should come to their natural conclusion, it's just... sometimes it's impossible to let go.

"Tell me this means something," she manages, eyes welling over as she continues to trace the lines on his hands. "Tell me I mean something."

"Clara," he says her name with a laugh. "Clara, you mean everything."

"No," her head rises so she can look at him, take in the sorrow in front of her. "Not right now. Not in this moment. Not because I'm the impossible girl, or soufflé girl, or the girl who is standing in your Tardis _today_, for a time. Tell me I mean something forever."

She can see the understanding drift across his face like a slap and he bends slightly, his fingers slipping out of hers to cup her neck at either side. This is what it is to give in, she knows; to not trick herself out of what she feels when she looks at him after a long day, or explain away the tickle in her stomach when he shows up outside her door.

"Forever," he repeats with a sad smile. "You mean everything forever."

Turning away, she laughs. He says it because he knows I want to hear it, she convinces herself, and she tries to shake herself out of the situation. She smiles at him and pretends she hadn't broken out of her composed state, and she turns to the Tardis.

"Where are we off to now?" She asks, and for a moment, she thinks maybe he'll let it slide. He has to let it slide if he wants them to continue on, she supposes.

He's horrible at romance, she knows, incredibly dense and incapable and... he drops down slightly, catching her lips in a gentle kiss that takes her by surprise and he shifts back to catch her, eyes closed, waiting.

A hand snakes to her waist and moves her away from the console, towards the ramp that lead to the interior of the Tardis. Clara watches him as he backs down it a bit, so that his eyes are closer to level with hers, and she waits, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he looks about – lost for what to say to her and it's almost infuriating.

All of the words, all of the speeches, all of the times she's watched him talk down an army, or a madman, or himself. All of the lies and all of the brilliance and all of the insanity that she's seen leak out of his mouth and he stands before her at a loss. _Impossible_.

"Clara..." is the only word that emerges.

She leans forward and lays her forehead against his, feels the trembling in the hands that are at her sides and she nods slowly. "I understand," she tells him sadly, pushing him aside and slipping out of his delicate grasp. "Forever is an eternity I don't have," she mutters as she moves down the ramp and makes her way through the first corridor door and down several steps, touching her necklace with a shaky hand as she bats away tears.

"No, Clara, you don't understand," he shouts, stalking after her, but she doesn't turn, simply quickens her pace, which she knows is useless because his legs are twice as long. "Clara, you don't understand," he repeats, hand coming out to catch her by the elbow before he lets go and she can hear him give a long sigh behind her.

It takes her a moment to turn, top lip held tightly between her teeth and she can see his face is red with frustration and she nods.

"Explain then, Doctor."

He looks up and a smile creeps over his lips before he laughs. "It's difficult."

"Use small words," she prompts, narrowing her eyes at him.

He shakes his head. "No, falling in love." He pauses to let the words sink in and she only looks away because she thinks he's speaking about her. Surely he's had a few companions fall in love with him. Clara imagines it would be impossible not to after travelling with the Doctor for a while, but then he continues, "I don't make a habit of it."

Clara tilts her head slightly and widens her eyes at him as she lowers her brow, hands fidgeting at her sides. "You don't."

The words aren't the most clever, but she feels as though she might have been hit in the side of the head with something heavy and the thoughts in her mind aren't formed properly. He doesn't fall in love often. HE doesn't. He _doesn't_?

Clasping his hands together at his chest, he gives her a tight lipped smile, slowly taking a step towards her. "I avoid it, mostly. Because I know how much it hurts when it ends. And it always ends – even if you could have all of the days of my life." One hand jettisons into his hair, ruffling it slightly before dropping away, open-palmed at his thigh. "And sometimes it's just there, like a wound in my chest I can't avoid or heal, even with the best Sontaran nurses in the galaxy."

"Am I a wound in your chest, Doctor?" Clara pleads. "That isn't love, that's pain."

He points at her condescendingly and snaps, "Sometimes love is pain!"

"How can you say that?" She shouts back, just as passionately.

And his composure breaks and he replies harshly, "_Because it ends_. It is the worst ending because it's the story you've cherished the dearest and it's the one that's torn from you the slowest because it doesn't end when you're no longer here. It's a lingering, a memory, a _remembrance_ that continually stabs with every fiber of the universe." He punches a fist into his palm. "The smell of wood burning and crackling like leaves, the sound of some random woman's laughter, some wild look in a child's eye, some little trinket in a corner of the universe you'd never noticed before that suddenly reminds you of the most important part of your life no longer available to you."

With a quick nod, she barks, "So you _never_ love because it's the only way you avoid _losing_."

"Yes," he tells her slowly.

"Then you've already lost," she enlightens him with an infuriated huff of laughter. And before he can say another word, she's stepping into him, "Take me home."

"What?" He asks, terrified.

Clara shakes her head. "Let's not prolong the inevitable because it's _my heart_ you're breaking."

"Clara," he bends, hands at her shoulders. "Don't."

"I can't... do this," she admits. "I've run out of ways to tell myself to stop."

"Stop what?" The Doctor questions, brow knotting.

"Loving you, you great oaf!" She shouts into his face, surprising even herself.

Clara waits, chest heaving with the deep breaths she's trying to take to steady herself and she watches him as he stares at the ground. There's a smirk again, the stupid smirk that makes her want to kick him in the shin and he peeks up at her through the thick hair that hangs off the front of his head. Clara looks away. She can't look at him anymore; she can't do it anymore. She wishes she could turn back the clock and throw away the card the woman in the shop had given her.

She could figure out life for herself.

But time doesn't work the way you want and neither does life and she finds herself standing there watching him because as much as she never wants to look at him again, she never wants to turn away. Clara glares at him, whole self in contemplation before he slowly begins to move.

Tugging at his bow tie, he loosens it, stripping it free from his neck and unraveling it to hold in his hands. And he stares down at it a moment before he shifts towards her. Clara moves back, unsure, but he reaches out for her hand, taking it gently in his. He wraps their hands together while she glances down at the dark ribbon now binding them and up at his eyes, wrought with concentration, and back again.

"What?" She questions. "What is this?"

Raising his eyes to her as he cups his free hand at her cheek in a way that's become so familiar she nudges into it automatically, he explains, "This," he gives her grasped hand a squeeze, "Is a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?" He laughs.

"Speak for yourself," she laughs back, not quite understanding.

Until he kisses her. So different from the kiss he'd given her on the console. It isn't gentle or restrained, it's hungry and makes her loose her balance right into him, but he doesn't let go or let up, he holds the hand bound to his tightly and wraps the other at her waist to keep her pressed against him. She exhales breathlessly and moves on tip toe, free hand finding his shoulder, grabbing hold firmly.

And she's off the ground, floating in his arms as he moves slowly down the corridor and through a door she doesn't know she's ever been through. It's so close to the console, but she can't recall it and she doesn't care. She allows him to lead and she follows, light-headed and giddy in his arms when his lips finally trail off hers and onto her neck as she bows her forehead into his ear. Clara lets out a small gasp of surprise when they tumble into what feels like a stack of pillows and when she glances sideways, she sees they have.

But she doesn't question it, she just reaches up with her free hand and she yanks him down closer to her, eyes fluttering as his body presses forcefully against hers as he works oddly successfully on her earlobe with his lips.

"What are we doing here?" She whispers, because it's the highest volume she can achieve.

He tilts his head up and smiles, lifting her bound hand and letting the fabric slip away with a small twist of his wrist. It settles beside her stomach lightly and she laughs quietly before he dips down for her lips again and there's a burst of images behind her now closed eyelids. Some sort of memory transference that makes her head spin in delicious ways.

It's time. Time and time. Coursing through her mind and unhinging it as they manage to strip out of their clothes and bury themselves in the pillows. Clara feels as though it were all too fast and too slow all at the same time and she cries out when he carefully slips inside of her, receiving a delicate stroke of each hand at either side of her face.

"Are you... okay?" He questions.

She looks up and knows he's asking if she's had second thoughts and she smiles, shaking her head and running her hands over his bare shoulders. So pale and so incredibly strong. He nudges at her nose with his own and they share a silent chuckle before she wraps her legs over his back and feels him shift deeper into her. His hands move away, tucking themselves underneath her arms, fingers diving into her hair to cradle her head.

Clara feels as though her heart might explode and her mind travels over the universe, the distant stars and the stray dust and his blue box whipping through it all. She tests his neck with a nibble that gifts her with a guttural noise from the man atop her and she wraps her arms up around him, eyes pinching shut when his mouth moves over her skin, suckling her nipples and she expects him to make a joke, opens her eyes and waits to see a goofy grin plastered on his face, but she finds dark eyes staring back up at her.

Lustful.

Not like anything she'd ever seen on his face.

Clara edges up, pillows falling aside as she straddles him, giving him a small unexpected pop of her hips that makes him gasp out and she wraps her arms over his shoulders and kisses him while working a rhythm with her pelvis over him that he jerks up into, hands latched to her sides. She sees the swirls of galaxies and then the sunset drenched red mountains and the city in the globe that sparkles.

And then she sees herself.

It's a slight shock he takes advantage of, easily lifting her and settling her back down against the pillows to press into her with a small moan before he whispers, "Home hasn't been that place in some time."

"Where is home?" She responds, barely audible.

He doesn't speak, only drops his lips onto hers and rubs his hands over her skin as she clutches at his hair, feeling herself reaching her climax, not wanting it to come. Not yet. Not so fast. But he's driving her there, quickening his blows as she twirls her tongue over his and they groan at one another.

It doesn't seem like there's enough time to savor it. The beautiful eruption of spasms that overtake her, bringing her feet down roughly so she can pivot herself into him as he continues to move against her, join his as he drops his forehead into her shoulder and sucks at her skin. Clara chances to whisper his name, his real name, into his ear and he sighs with satisfaction, body resting against hers, occasionally moving lightly, reaching up into her, desperate for more.

She's out of breath and parched and her body is on fire. Clara reaches over and finds the bow tie absently with her fingers. She rubs at the material as she relishes the last waves of it all and the feeling of his body against hers, holding her as if she might fly away from him. Holding onto her as though she might disappear.

Dropping the edge of his bow tie into his hair, she flicks it about, smiling when he finally looks up at her sleepily, grin lazily on his lips as he leans on his elbows. "Hi," she tells him.

"Hello," he responds.

And time was frozen for those few seconds, staring into one another's eyes. Clara imagines this is normal, this is what this should feel like – apart from the space travel and the pillows scattered about. The fullness in her heart and the warmth in her belly and the notion that she could be perfectly satisfied lying there with him for all of eternity.

She raises the bow tie, "What is your promise?"

He twists it around a finger and she does the same and he kisses her lightly and whispers, "Forever."


	2. Chapter 2

Time isn't strictly linear.

It's something she can recall him saying. Maybe what they experienced outside those doors wasn't, but what she felt inside was. There were days of dancing and days of laughing and days of fighting and days of wonder and they were linear to her, stringing together their time outside of the box with their time inside. And time was moving faster. It moves so fast she can see the small bump in her skin long before she realizes what's happened.

Clara studies herself in a mirror. Wrings her hands through her hair and listens for the distinct noise of the Tardis landing in the yard. The smile on her face is automatic and she rushes down the stairs before she hears Angie calling out for her. The girl is giving her a curious look, but Clara ignores it. She jumps straight into his waiting arms and when he drops her back down to the ground, he tells her gleefully, "Let's watch your sun be born."

"Awesome," comes her quiet response.

"When will you be back this time?" Angie asks sternly. "Last week you weren't just gone for the day. Artie and I had to lie to dad, tell him you'd fallen ill."

"I had fallen ill," Clara asserts.

Angie nods, but the sullen look is still stuck on her face as she crosses her arms, "Hard to believe it, seein' the smug smile on your face when you got back."

"Oy!" Clara shouts, "It was not smug."

"Whatever," Angie spits, walking away.

The Doctor raises an eyebrow and watches Clara as she turns back to him. Her small nose is flared slightly and there's a touch of pink in her cheeks. He gestures to Angie, "We could, we could go another day?"

"It's Wednesday!" Clara declares. To him the next Wednesday _could_ be five minutes from now; for her it _would_ be in a week's time. "We can't waste the time, Doctor."

He eyes her as she moves around him and undoes the lock on the Tardis with the key she's strung around her neck. Clara pokes her head back out and watches him close the Maitland's front door behind him, looking to the ground before glancing up at her.

"I think it's time to end this," he tells her unexpectedly.

Clara's body goes numb. Wasn't it going alright? Weren't they working just fine? She takes a step back out of the Tardis and eyes him before asking, "What?"

"Meeting by appointment," he tells her. "Maybe it's time you came aboard. Full time."

She starts to smile, but it drops away as she looks back at the house, "Angie... Artie needs..."

"A mother?" The Doctor questions.

There's a nod and she feels heartbroken because she knows what he's thinking – she's not their mother and she won't ever be able to fill that role while she's with him, she wouldn't possibly be able to fill that role for them at all. Also, Angie is probably old enough to care for her younger brother for spots at a time. It's quite possible they've lost their need for her and it's equally possible she's lost her need for them – a need she hadn't realized she had.

"They've outgrown me," Clara says weakly. "Time does fly," she whispers to herself, hand falling absently at her midsection because the thought of the two children growing up makes her sick to her stomach with worry. Time flies by so rapidly and there's no way to stop it.

"You've outgrown them as well," the Doctor tells her. "It's time for your life to start, Clara."

She gives a giggle. Her life. She's twenty four. She looks up at the grin on his face and she rushes back into the Tardis, making her way to the console and looking to the buttons while she waits. The door closes behind her and she turns to see him skidding to a stop beside her, bumping her shoulder and smiling, "Birth of a sun," he repeats. "Billions of years in the past."

It's exciting and terrifying all at once, but the nausea is surprising and she suppresses it long enough for the Tardis to take its quick hop and a swing back through time and space and slow to a stop. She rushes to the front doors and holds them, looking to the Doctor for permission and he nods, making his way towards her. Clara waits anyways, knowing he's probably seen it before, but she'd rather see it with him at her side and when he's there – when his hand is laid gently against the small of her back – she pulls open the door to see the brilliant star churning in the distance.

"It's beautiful," she sighs.

"Every creation in the universe is beautiful," he smiles. "Each star, each black hole, each living being on each living planet, all unique from one another, each radiating their brilliance back out into the universe they all came from." He hugs her closer. "I never tire of creation."

Clara swallows a thought, looking back out at the bursts of molten sun and seeing the speckles of rocks and dust floating around them and she gestures, "This is our solar system – our solar system before it's our solar system."

"We could see the birth of the Earth."

"You've seen the birth of the Earth," she smiles. "I was there."

He chuckles softly and lowers himself to the ground, legs dangling over the edge of the Tardis. Clara slides down to sit next to him and she leans into him, relaxing when his arm is draped over hers. "You need to let Angie and Artie go, Clara."

"I don't want to say..."

"It wouldn't be goodbye."

She sighs, warm tears finding her cheeks. "What's happening between us? Really, Doctor. What are we doing?"

"We're exploring."

"To what end?"

They exchange a glance. He looks away first.

Clara watches the sun's surface, a vortex of swirls and pops, and she lays her head on him, closing her eyes and imagining the warmth of the rays. She could sit there for eternity with him, but she knows they have to return. They take a day to walk through the fields of dandelions on a planet whose name she can't pronounce and they take a second to visit an island in an ocean on a planet made of water where she gets sea sickness and they fight off flying sharks.

When he returns her to her doorstep though, it's only a few hours after they left and Angie is still in her room with her headphones in; Artie is playing a violent video game that she makes him stop playing to get his homework done. Clara returns to her room and she throws herself into her bed, exhausted as she kicks off her boots, crosses her feet, and stares at the ceiling.

She turns to look at the calendar, the days between today and next Wednesday. Only six more days, she tells herself with a smile and while she knows it's so much time, she also knows it'll go by in a flash. She'll be waiting at the doorstep for him soon enough. Or she could take on his offer, pushed aside in her mind, to join him full-time.

"He's gonna break your heart, you know," comes Angie's sad words from the doorway and Clara shifts, glancing up at the girl who's leaned against the door frame.

"We're talking again?" Clara surmises with a small nod of her head.

Angie enters and moves around the bed, settling onto it at her side. She contemplates her words and Clara considers just how old the girl actually is. She's not a child anymore, Clara finally acknowledges, and she waits for her to speak, knowing by the look on her face that there's something terribly important she wants to say, but also knowing that she's having doubts about telling her.

"He's a time travelling alien," Angie begins slowly, watching Clara smile. "You said he was... old, but he doesn't seem to even age." Angie looks uncomfortable, fiddling with her fingers before telling her, "What's he gonna do when you get old?"

Clara nods, watching the girl curiously because she knows that's not it. That's not the question she has for her, but she appeases her. "He'll leave me," she says firmly, then looks up at Angie, "Do you honestly think I haven't thought about it?"

"I didn't think you had," she laughs in response, calming slightly, but still unnerved.

"Angie," Clara starts, eyes finding the ceiling, "How would you feel if I resigned as your nanny?"

"I'm a bit too old for a nanny," Angie tells her honestly, "But we'd still be able to, you know, talk, right?"

Turning to look up at her, Clara smiles, "Of course we would." Sitting up, Clara touches her head, then drops her hand to her chest. She sees the concern in Angie's face and she tells her quietly, "Planet made of ocean. Flying sharks. Still a bit queasy."

Angie snorts. "Clara, you're an adult, right?"

"I'd like to think so," Clara tells her, slapping the girl's shoe lightly.

Standing, Angie tells her bluntly, but with a knowing smile, "Well, with all this time travelling, you should keep better track of time. Something tells me you're missing something and you don't even know it."

"What?" Clara breathes.

Twisting her fingers, she stands and glances at the calendar before grinning and sighing.

The girl leaves the room and Clara stares after her, considering her words and she moves to her calendar, pulling it off the wall and flipping through the months, knowing she can't really account for all the time she's actually lived. Every Wednesday is at least two to three days, so every month is at least a week longer than it should be. Clara laughs as she looks up at the doorway, wondering what on Earth the girl could be talking about and she takes a step towards the door, ready to just ask her as she fiddles with the calendar in her hands. She moves backwards in time, then forward, then back again, shaking her head slightly, and when it comes to her, Clara faints.


	3. Chapter 3

He misses the next Wednesday and sends her into a slight panic because he never misses a Wednesday. Of course, she never misses anything either and she has. Clara puts the last of her belongings in a box and she carries it down the stairs and out to Mr. Maitland's car. They share a sadness and an understanding. It's time for her to move on, time for _time_ to continue. And, as usual, it all happens too fast.

Her apartment is small, but not far away, and she's still expected at the Maitland's on occasion for dinner, for a Saturday out with the children, for a talk late at night on the phone with Angie over boys, or a text session with Artie over strategies on his games. Clara's heart aches as she hugs them in what has been a day of hugs, and she climbs into the vehicle next to the man she's worked for – and with – over the past few years.

"Feels like they were just babies when I first met them," she laments, "Look at them, almost grown."

"They're still babies," Mr. Maitland tells her with a laugh. "At least to me."

She smiles up at him, knowing exactly what he means, and he pulls out onto the street. Clara watches the buildings go by and she delights in the flickers of sunlight on her face. The apartment wasn't permanent; at least she didn't consider it to be. He would come next Wednesday. He'd better. And the Maitland's could tell him where she was and he could pick her up. They'd drift through the stars, popping back for those visits. For Christmas, and Easter Mass, and when Angie finally finds someone who can be her equal.

"Your boyfriend," Mr. Maitland starts slowly, "Does he know… does he know you're moving?"

She shakes out of her daze and glances over, telling him softly, "No, but when he arrives…"

"I'll let him know," the man finishes. Then he glances sideways at her. "You sure he's a safe bloke?"

"You sound like my dad," Clara laughs, dropping her hands in her lap. "Always concerned."

"Well, your dad was a school chum… and I've known _you_ since _you_ were a baby yourself, Clara – you'll forgive me if I sometimes feel a bit paternal towards you. I just want to know you're safe. Seems like this is all so sudden." Then he adds, "You're not quite yourself lately."

Good, she thinks to herself. _I've grown up_. "I'll check in," she tells him, hand coming to rest on his, "I promise, I'll check in."

She knows it shouldn't frighten her to say those words, but it does because the Doctor promised her forever and he's not around. And it's Wednesday. And she has to tell him something important. Something very forever.

He pulls the car up into a parking lot in front of a building that's terribly tall and Clara sighs when she looks up at it, feeling a pang of anxiety strike her because it's all suddenly real. All suddenly too real. He might never return, she realizes. This place might be her life now – the job she's applied for might be her life and she'd have to go it alone. The Doctor could have been thrown into a volcano, or been killed by a rogue Dalek, or any number of insane things because he constantly gets himself into trouble and if he got himself into trouble and she wasn't there… if no version of herself were there… maybe he'd meet the inevitable end by himself.

Clara stumbles as she steps out of the car, head dizzy and stomach turning, and she feels a set of light knuckles stroke her cheek. She smiles, expecting to open her eyes and find Mr. Maitland there waiting on front of her, but when she looks, it's him and she lets out an unexpected squeak and lunges at him to punch him in the arm, receiving a look of surprise in return and a set of raised arms.

"What have I done!?" The Doctor shouts.

"You're late!" She responds with a shout before she calms herself and looks to Mr. Maitland who's standing nearby with her box, giving the duo a strange look.

The man takes a few steps towards the Doctor, who's looking properly frightened, and he sets the box down at his chest, giving him a stare and a grumbled, "I'll never understand a man who doesn't help his woman move."

Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Maitland turns to give Clara a quick hug and then he gets into his car and drives off. Clara waits until he's down the street to turn and scowl at the Doctor, checking her watch and pointing at him, "Wednesday, eleven in the morning – that's what we agreed to."

He gestures back at the Tardis, tucked in a corner, "I was here! One 'til, waiting for you."

She shakes her head and manages a smile before moving towards the building. Adjusting the box in his arms, he follows her, quietly riding the lift up to the third floor and walking after her down the hall to the door she jams a key into. Clara pushes open the door and sighs at the sparsely furnished apartment, allowing him entrance before shutting the door and watching him settle the box on a couch. The only thing she'd been able to purchase.

"Kind of empty," he offers, lips pressing together, unimpressed.

With a laugh, she responds, "It's all new to me, you know. Moving on my own."

"I told you to move in with me," he nods to the window, out of which the Tardis is clearly visible. "You don't need this place," he scoffs.

She licks her lips slowly and nods, arms crossing over her chest.

"Clara, you don't need this place," he repeats, a twinge of fear stuck in his vocal chords.

"Doctor, we've hit a bit of a hiccup."

He glances around. "I don't understand. I thought you wanted to commit, I thought you wanted commitment and I thought I made it clear I was jumping in. Both feet. With a smile. I thought I was making it clear regularly, actually."

There's a devilish look on his face that turns her cheeks red and she laughs. Then she nods. Then she tells him bluntly, "I'm pregnant."

"What?" He stammers.

"Pregnant," she repeats, hands falling away and then cupping her stomach. "Which I thought would be impossible, and I would ask if it should be impossible, but you're turning green, so obviously it's possible." She glances skyward, "Well, obviously it's possible because I am."

He sits on the couch next to her box and he leans his elbows on his knees. Clara moves towards him slowly, hands hanging loosely at her sides and she comes to a stop just in front of him. She watches the way his shoulders rise and fall steadily, but they're rigid beneath the vest and shirt and his head hangs down. She imagines his eyes are closed because he wouldn't ignore her standing there, and the thought of what might be going through his mind frightens her.

"Doctor?"

"A father, at this age," he whispers to the ground with a smile before lifting his eyes to her body in front of him. Clara feels frozen to the spot, frozen to the moment, as he lifts his palms to her hip bones and lays his forehead against her stomach. "A child," he says, pressing a kiss just under her navel. "I'm going to be a father?"

His eyes come up to search hers and she's lost her breath with the hope she finds in them. The right corner of her mouth perks up and she manages a nod through the tears now blinding her. "I'm going to be a mother."

He laughs and his hands pull at her body, wanting to bring her down atop him on the couch. She tugs at her skirt to straddle him and she lands on him gently, closing her eyes to kiss him lightly as his hands round her back and settle themselves just above her backside. Her forehead drops against his and she feels him laugh against her mouth as his head shifts away and she's looking at him again, at the way he's staring at her.

Like she's the most beautiful thing in the universe.

"I'm going to be the mother of a Time Lord," Clara realizes, breath caught in her throat, and she watches as he shakes his head, as though it were nothing to fear. "But Doctor, will it be… alright? Normal? Ten fingers; ten toes… how many hearts?"

She hadn't thought about it. She'd only really had two weeks to think about it and she'd been more preoccupied with getting her own place, explaining to Mr. Maitland that his children were old enough to go without a nanny, looking for a possible job. Worrying about the Doctor's reaction.

Feeling his hands covering hers atop his shoulders, she allows him to bring them down to sit at her belly. "Clara, we're not all that dissimilar. I suppose that's how this is entirely possible and I'm sorry I wasn't more cognoscente of it before – but it will be a normal child. Two arms, two legs, two eyes, two loving parents. That's what will matter."

"But if he gets sick, if anything happens to him and I have to get proper care, I can't just pop into a hospital…" she trails. Why hadn't she thought on it before? She'd been lost for days in a dreamland of possibilities. Of small imagined faces and optimistic family picnics, of silly girlish fantasies that ignored all of the reality currently crashing down on her. "How am I going to give birth? Where am I…"

He sets a finger on her lips and she stares down at the amusement on his face. "Clara, Earth is not the only planet; this year is not the only year. He will be fine." Then he lowers his head slightly and drops his own hand to hers, "He."

"It's just a pronoun," Clara says with a shake of her head and he smiles.

Shifting forward, he helps her back into a standing position and he gets a wild look on his face, "Let's go, let's travel – first family outing."

The notion makes her laugh and she's rushing out the door behind him, barely able to grab hold of her purse on the way out. They ride the lift sharing an expression of pure glee at the thought of seeing the stars, and they rush to the Tardis where the Doctor bursts through the doors, but Clara trails behind, looking the box over with hesitation.

His head pops out of the doorway and he waves an arm, then clasps it against the sturdy blue wood. "Clara, what is it?"

"Is that safe?" She points. "Is the time vortex and all that space jam safe?"

He steps out of the box and nods, reaching out a hand that she takes easily. Clara climbs aboard the Tardis, suddenly wary of it. It didn't like her at the start, what if it rejects her now? What if it rejects her child and opens the Tardis doors to let him walk out into space the first time he's unattended.

"Tell her," she urges, gesturing at the glowing sea green tubes that churn at the center.

"Tell her?" The Doctor repeats, watching Clara place a protective hand on her stomach. "Clara, she isn't going to hurt you! You're _pregnant_, not turned into a Dalek."

The Cloister bell sounds loudly and the colors shift suddenly, going stark white and Clara finds herself hiding behind the man who's looking out over his machine with a questioning stare. And then there's a tickle at her back that circles her body and she shouts out when she glances down to see the glowing tendrils of sparkles surrounding her.

Clara tries to rush forward, to escape its grasp, but it follows her, enveloping her, and she grabs hold of the console, feeling as though she might be lifted into the air. But it doesn't hurt her. Oppositely, the nausea she'd been experiencing dissipates and the dizziness is gone. There's an odd swimming sensation in her stomach and she looks to the Doctor, standing at the entrance to the console with a look of confusion on his face.

"She's studying you," he explains. "She's trying to make sense of the fetus in your womb against your anatomy."

"She's scaring me!" Clara cries out.

"I've never seen her do this," the Doctor admits, stepping closer. "Taking the initiative, scanning a subject herself; quite frankly, she's scaring me as well."

Giving him a frustrated growl, she commands, "Tell her to stop!"

The light slips back through the crevices on the console, and the room slips into a magnificently light shade of blue and there's a sound she finds familiar and alien all the same. It's a whooshing sloshing sound interspersed with a steady pounding and Clara looks around at the interior of the Tardis, glowing so bright she laughs.

"She's analyzed the baby," the Doctor tells her in a whisper.

"He's a boy," Clara surmises. "A boy," she repeats with a laugh and a hand to her stomach.

"And we're listening to his heartbeats." He looks to her wondrously as she glances around, listening to the sound that's faded slightly, but still pulsating around them, "You were already psychically linked to her, so she's used that to form a bond with him. To keep tabs on him. To keep him safe."

With a nod, Clara looks up at the Doctor, his face shining in the light, a wide grin spreading over his lips. As though everything were ok now that the Tardis approved. It's a foolish thought, but she'd brought it up before – the notion that he couldn't have her along as companion without the approval of his _mother_. She pats the console lightly and then gives it a small stroke of her fingers, trying to apologize through the gesture and the blue begins to slip away, replaced with the regular greener hue and the sound goes silent. They stand together at the console just as they'd always stood – sharing a giddy giggle, ready for the adventure that waited.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh," Clara says to herself quietly as she moves down the corridor towards the library. The Tardis offers her books to ease her concerns when she has them, and the Tardis guides her to rooms that hold what she needs when she needs it. It's become a favorable relationship that she cherishes and she occasionally talks to her when the Doctor isn't around. Like a secret girlfriend.

The feeling in her stomach is new and sudden and she presses a hand on the extended flesh that's just starting to stretch the fabric on her dresses. There's a roll and a small gurgle and she knows it's not hunger. It's him. She can feel the first flutterings of him moving inside of her and she stands frozen in place in the hallway with her hands at her stomach and a smile growing on her face.

Breaking into a run, she finds herself running up the ramp at the console, looking about wildly for her Doctor, but he's not there. With a pout, she calls out loudly, "Doctor?"

"Down here, Clara," comes the response from beneath her and when she glances down, he's looking up foolishly from the edge and she sighs at him before making her way down the ramp and around to the underbelly of the Tardis console, watching him standing next to the swing he sometimes sits in to fix or tinker with the bits above. "Just adjusting the pressure sensitivity to the gravitational fields. Seemed to have been knackered about during the last spin around Urolaous 7."

"Nearly sucked us into the planet," she reminds.

"That," he mutters before smacking the board above him with the rag in his hands. Clara sits in the sling and rocks gently, waiting for him to acknowledge her properly and she sees the small smirk that plays on his lips as he turns and approaches, crouching in front of her to ask, "How are you feeling today, Clara?"

"I felt him move, just now," she tells him, satisfied.

He immediately lays his hands on her dress and she slaps them away, "You're dirty! And you wouldn't be able to feel him anyways. That's months off!"

Wiping his hands with a grunt of frustration, he reminds her, "I'm a Time Lord, not some human bloke who has to wait to experience such things." He demonstrates that his hands are clean before she nods and he lays his hands down again on her.

"You can really feel him this early?" She questions, waiting for the subtle nod as he's knelt in concentration. It's surreal sometimes, watching him as he delicately touches her belly – and he often does – and imagining that inside of her their child is swimming along happily, reaching back for his father.

His eyes pop slightly in surprise and when he gaps up at her, she unexpectedly breaks into tears. "Clara, Clara? What happened?"

"I'm just having an emotion," she manages to tell him, finger coming up to her nose as she shakes her head while he laughs.

"Use to be, I was frightened of a woman having an emotion," he tells her honestly. "Her name was Amelia Pond and she was one of the most amazing women I have ever met, but when she was emoting… I let her husband worry about it," the Doctor pauses, eyes widening as he makes a face before he admits, "Actually, I ran."

Clara laughs, letting him pull her into a standing position and she presses herself against him, standing on tip toe to kiss him lightly before shifting away. "Glad you're not running now."

"I'm the husband," he replies.

"You're the husband," she repeats with a smile and the fluttering in her stomach isn't just her baby. "_Husband_," she teases, grabbing hold of his vest with both hands. "I am having a new emotion and it needs to be taken care of."

"Oh?" He eyes her as she stares up at him, dangerous look spreading over her face and he exclaims, "OH!"

Clara pulls him with her and she hears a tool clatter to the ground as they exit the console room and dive into the corridors of the Tardis. She finds a door and opens it and stops when she finds herself staring into the pool. Brow furrowed, she looks up at the Doctor and then up around the room. "Not what I was looking for!" She shouts.

He laughs to himself and she slaps his elbow, then begins to twist off the buttons on her dress, slipping it off and turning to look at the bemused expression on his face. The Doctor moves forward and he drops to his knees, pressing a kiss to her bare stomach before looking up and telling her quietly, "Clara," and hugging her.

It should feel awkward, but it doesn't because she understands. He's in awe of what they've done, of the child she's carrying. He's in awe of her and the decision she's made because he knows she's taken the time to think it through, knows eventually she'll pass and she'll be outlived by the men in her life by a hundred lifetimes. And she doesn't cry about that, she embraces it. Them.

He's whispering and she bends slightly, listening as he finishes, "…and you'll be magnificent."

"You talking to him?" She asks.

Standing, he nods, hands lingering at her waist, fingers kneading at her skin. "No harm in some encouragement."

Clara half smirks and she lifts her hands to his vest, undoing the buttons before working him out of his shirt. She traces a path over his bare chest and tucks her hands into his waist band, looking down a moment before exhaling. Sometimes it doesn't feel real and then she can see her growing stomach, curving out in front of her, and she's overwhelmed.

For whatever reason, she hadn't ever really thought about having children. She'd always been a caretaker, always rushed after school to the Maitland's, or the Browning's, or any of a number of families in her neighborhood. She'd arrive, the children would squeal and the parents would leave and a few hours later the children would be asleep, the parents would pay, and she'd be skipping back off home, some lullaby stuck in her head.

He touches her chin and lifts her face to grin goofily into it, the question lingering unsaid.

"I'm gonna be a mum," she tells him as her throat closes up.

"You're going to be the best mum in the universe," he assures and she only smiles. She doesn't need encouragement; it's not motherhood she's frightened of. She undoes the buckle of his pants and he allows them to slide down around his ankles and for a moment she's lost in laughter when she sees the cartoonish socks and underwear he's got on. Some character from so long ago she knows she wasn't around.

"Always a surprise with you," she manages.

He starts to frown, to look down at himself, but she's guiding him towards the waters, sloshing into them backwards and he gets a mischievous look as he slips away from her and runs lengthwise along the pool before jumping in. Clara, now chest deep, only shakes her head. Intimacy was possible, she knew, occasionally, and definitely not within distance of anything fanciful – like a pool.

"He's gonna love this place," she calls out. "Always a new game to play."

The Doctor beams. "And new rooms will be created for him. I've been thinking them up. We need more bunk beds, spaceships, and maybe animals. Maybe not animals. Maybe robotic animals!" He points a finger in the air, sending water flying.

Shaking her head, she wades over to him and wraps herself around him with her legs, feelings hands instantly on her back to support her. "Doctor," she tells him plainly.

"Yes, Clara," he responds quietly.

"Shut up," she commands, arms around his neck, lips on his.


	5. Chapter 5

They run rapidly through the square, Clara taking in all the new species of aliens she's never seen before, and she feels his hand tighten and knows they're almost at their destination. He turns back to her, eyebrows high, grin bright as he splits the crowd with his lanky figure and Clara ducks slightly, free hand curled around her stomach protectively.

It has occurred to her that they've been relatively danger free and the thought haunts her at night sometimes when he's dropped her back off – because they both feel the time apart is safer. The time apart allows for an ease in the suspicion growing in the universe about Clara's pregnancy.

It's the thing she fears: everything she does know about him and his travelling. There's always a danger; always an evil lurking just around the corner and as the months tick by so very rapidly, she estimates it's only a matter of time before the universe figures out just who she's carrying.

The Doctor's son.

The very notion could, she knows, strike fear into the hearts of any being, but in her fragile state, it could also be a tempting attack. She could be taken, she could be tortured, and she could have her child taken away before she's had the chance to hold him. And Clara knows this because she knows it's already happened.

The same Amelia Pond he so fondly remembers from time to time lost her daughter to their travels together. Not entirely, she knows. Melody existed, she became River, she saved their lives once and she pleaded with Clara not to enter the Doctor's time stream at Trenzalore, even though she knew – through their psychic connection – that there was really no stopping her.

"Slow down," Clara urges with a breathless laugh.

"Just through the doors," he shouts back and his body collides with the wood with a deafening thud, but he turns in time to cushion her stop, allowing her to mold to him as his arms bow around her. He pulls her back and breaths roughly against the bangs at her forehead before swiping them aside and gripping the door handle. "The nursery," he tells her. "A thousand beings waiting to be born all floating in an aquarium of a perfect amniotic fluid."

She giggles. It's a strange life form he's brought her to see. One that settles its eggs in this place and then watches over them protectively for years until they are birthed and they float out into the night sky to live out their lives only to return when they're ready to lay eggs of their own. A couple can only spawn once, but they are bonded forever through the children they raise.

Pushing open the door, she almost closes her eyes, but the light is brilliant and sparkles in a way that reminds her of sunsets on the ocean. Clara's mouth falls open as she sees the edge of the glass bubble before her and she raises a hand to touch the edge, slips a finger over a membrane as the Doctor watches. Behind the membrane is a pool that goes on as far as she can see and she looks back at the empty chamber.

"Will it explode?" She questions.

"No, no, Clara," he chides, "It's organic, unique to this solar system, and can repair a tear in a fraction of a second – it's why they come here; despite the civilization that's grown around the birthing ponds, it's a peaceful place. No one disturbs them, they simply observe out of reverence."

She smiles, holding a hand to the edge and feeling a strange pulse thudding against her palm. "What am I feeling?"

"The heartbeat of a family," he tells her, moving close behind her and dropping an arm at her back that leaves his fingers at her waist. He lifts the Sonic to the water and gives it a short buzz and then holds it between them and she hears the chorus of whoomps and whooshes. "They all beat as one and it's this beat that identifies them to one another as family. It also prevents inbreeding, which generally has catastrophic results."

Clara glances up at him and gives him an odd twist of her mouth and then ignores him. She closes her eyes and takes a long breath, listening to the sound. "What do we sound like, Doctor – our family?" And the word, the first time she's spoken it, gives her heart a jump.

He buzzes the Sonic and then holds it between them again, just above her belly and she laughs at the collection of sounds that drum out in front of her. Her single heartbeat pounding against theirs… and she knows her son has two hearts. She finds it fitting knowing what she knows of the Doctor. Her son will need a heart to love and a heart to break and she lays a hand down on him and leans her head against the man beside her.

"It's a good beat," she whispers.

"Clara," he calls lightly, waiting for her to lift her head and glance up at him, "I'm afraid of the same thing."

For a moment she wonders if he truly could be, but she can see it on his face as he turns away and looks up at the small fish-like creatures that have floated towards the edge of the bubble to watch them. They chatter amongst each other and the Doctor can hear what Clara cannot.

_The great _Doctor_ will be a _father_ again very soon._


	6. Chapter 6

Her couch feels uncomfortable every time they return to the small apartment and he lifts her feet onto his shoulders as he sits cross-legged in front of her, smiling like a fool while tinkering with some object in his lap. He's fixing something, something to do with a transistor coupling, or a radiator cooper sink. She has no idea what he'd told her it was and she, honestly, didn't care. She wiggles her toes and tries to turn her aching ankles and she feels entirely small and incredibly large at the same time and she wonders how she'd gotten there so fast.

Eight months.

"I am a Tardis," she laments.

He lets out an unexpected laugh and then shakes his head and grows serious as he looks up at her, obviously having thought his reaction rude, but she smiles at him. "You're beautiful," he allows calmly.

She pokes him with a toe. "You have to say that."

"Would I lie?" Then he shakes his head. "I'm not lying," then he smiles and turns away bashfully, "I'm wouldn't lie about this, Clara."

And when he looks back at her, she knows it's the truth, but she still feels terribly oversized. Like a bloated Star Whale drifting in the night sky. And her whole body is suffering. "Even my nose is all funny now," she whines, poking at it with both fingers.

"Well, your nose has always been a little funny," he tells her honestly, raising his Sonic to point as he adds, "And I won't take that one back, it's the truth."

She wrinkles it at him and then laughs, throwing her head back into the couch cushions. "Why does it feel like it's been a hundred years and one second at once?"

"That's how life is, I suppose." And he sighs. It's a long sigh that gains her attention.

"Is that how it is for you?" She asks.

He shakes his head, "Sometimes, like there's never enough time to do everything I want."

"You have a time machine. You have all of time," she laughs.

He pressed his lips together and contemplates her words before correcting her, "I have a time machine, but my time is limited."

"How is that?" Clara drops her feet down and sits up with a struggle.

He sets his device and Sonic down and he helps her with a gentle tug before clasping her hands in her lap just underneath the tight curve of her stomach. "There's the notion that a Time Lord is infallible, but it's that very notion that makes him not." He smiles up at her. "One day I'll jump too far, I'll expect too much, I'll take one last chance… and it'll end. No regenerations, no second chances – just that grave at Trenzelor."

"Is that why you avoided going there?" She questions. "Seeing it makes it real?"

"Clever girl," he says to her knees. Clara edges up slightly and he shakes his head and tells her, "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say," she spits.

"You wanted to go into the future and see him."

She slumps, "Fine. It was obvious, anyways." Clara slides her hands up underneath her shirt, pulling away the fabric to look down at the olive skin that's stretched into a perfectly rounded ball just underneath her breasts. He kisses her belly and then lays his ear against it, smirking occasionally.

Clara enjoys watching his interactions. She wishes she could partake in them the same way, but she can feel a warmth spreading up into her heart that she knows is him trying to comfort that sadness. She feels the kicks at her side and smiles, giving his foot a small press with two fingers and she can feel he's turning and then the Doctor lifts his head and he looks up at her with a quick laugh.

"He kicked me in the face," he chuckles.

"Let's hope that's not an indicator of your future relationship!" She teases, and then jerks slightly because he's kicked her square in the ribs. "Not nice," she scolds softly.

"Let's hope that's not an indicator of _your_ future relationship," the Doctor quips before lifting one of her feet into his hands to rub. "We need to start making some kind of plan, you know."

"Plan?" Clara moans, eyes closing against his thumbs pressing into just the right spots.

"His birth," he tells her, nodding to her stomach.

Her eyes pop open and she laughs, "You actually _want_ to have a plan for this?"

"_This_ is _actually_ important," he replies, hands stopping.

She considers it a moment, since he's genuinely concerned and she realizes, suddenly, that maybe she should be. They couldn't just go to an Earth hospital; his two hearts would set off serious alarm bells. "Oh," she manages. "Oh no," she tells him. "Tell me you know where the best hospitals are."

"It might be best to avoid hospitals," he admits, eyes turning down.

"Why?" She presses, pulling her foot away.

The Doctor hangs his head and then looks up and tells her honestly, "Birth of a Time Lord… not something that happens anymore."

"Yes, I know," she smiles, "But is it dangerous? Should I be worried, Doctor?"

He smiles and shakes his head slightly. "For you it would be no different from a human birth, it's just the knowledge of his birth – I wouldn't want that information falling into the wrong hands."

Clara shifts up and asks him bluntly, "Am I in danger for having this baby, Doctor?"

For a moment he's silent.

"Will he be in danger?" She kicks him in the shoulder roughly and he doesn't expect it, falling over and looking up at her. "Because I had an inkling. I thought maybe since everyone wanted to kill you – but I thought it was because you stirred the pot and since your child hadn't, he would be left alone, but he won't be left alone, will he! Because he's your son he'll be in danger all of his life!"

"Clara," he starts, but she's standing. Her shirt falls back over her stomach and floats off in waves as she paces the house, considering the fact that she'd been so foolish not to ask him before. Not to truly consider it before.

What would she have done though, she wonders. She would never have ended his life, she couldn't have – what she felt for children, for the Doctor, for her child, was so much from the start that it would never have been an option. But she could have sent him away. The Doctor could have left and returned for her years later and none would be the wiser.

"We've been travelling sporadically," the Doctor assures. "Every Wednesday, just like before," he points out. "You kept a job, a home here – never boarded the Tardis permanently. There's no reason to believe anyone out there even knows it's my child."

But she sees an odd break in his face. She sees the lie and she stops pacing and marches to him, ridiculous as it seems for her stature and progress in her pregnancy. She stabs at his chest with her fingers and shouts, "_They all know, don't they_!" She steps away, hands on her mouth, "Oh God, they all know."

He takes a step towards her, but stops short when she glares up at him angrily. "There are whispers, I've heard them, and many don't believe it to be true – the Doctor having a child. It would be impossible because he would never let it happen."

Tilting her head slightly, she prompts, "Why would they think that?"

His features are pained now, an expression she hasn't seen in a long time and he growls, "Because I would be putting an innocent child in the line of fire and I don't do that. I wouldn't do that to any child, _much less my own_."

"Apparently you have!" She shouts back.

Looking like he might be sick to his stomach, he turns away from Clara and she can see the way the idea is affecting him and she looks to the ground. To a corner that needs to be cleaned and she hasn't noticed and she listens to him breathing, trying to control his breath and she knows it's a struggle for him to still be there. Not running to hide in the Tardis, not running from her, from his responsibilities, from his mistakes.

"Let's leave," she tells him suddenly, moving forward and taking hold of his hand to a surprised look. She smiles wildly, "Let's pack my things and leave," she speaks in a hushed tone, as though what she were saying was absurd and her eyes go wide, "Let's go and never come back." Then she finishes, "You told me once we don't, we don't walk away except when we're carrying precious cargo and I am – _we are _– and we should run. Run as far and as long as we need to run and we'll find a way to give him what he needs and we'll be alright. We'll be alright because we've got one another and that's all it ever needed to be. Just us."

There's a small twinkle forming in his eye, but it fades as he looks out the window and tells her sadly, "Your father."

Clara steels herself and declares, "Sometimes you make sacrifices for the people you love."

"I can't make you choose between us."

"I haven't," she declares. "I've chose my son." She lays a hand on her belly and repeats boldly, "I choose my son and my son is safest on the Tardis. You'll protect him; she'll protect him. It's how it's meant to be."

The Doctor doesn't seem entirely convinced and he moves away, walking towards a shelf on which sits a photo of Clara and her father from her birthday a few months before, both wearing ridiculous birthday hats, holding a third to what existed of her belly then. He lifts it up to study it and then places it back down while she stands at the center of the room waiting. She feels like they should be packing; they should be moving, not her watching him trying to come up with some reason for her to change her mind.

So she moves to the room and she pulls a suitcase from underneath her bed and starts to fill it with clothes. Clara feels the tears staining her cheeks as she fills the suitcase and goes into her closet for a second. She tries to think of everything she's going to need – now and after – and she goes through her jewelry, picking out what's important and knowing what's not will stay with her father.

Maybe she could come back for it someday; maybe if she had a daughter one day.

There's a small smile, instant on her lips, at the thought of the Doctor with a little girl, swinging her just under the Tardis console as a sullen boy argues for his turn. She shakes the thought away – it would be dangerous enough with one child, she understands. She glances up when he leans against the doorframe and she sees the look on his face. It's the face of a man who's had his heart broken a thousand times over and she stops, dropping the brush in her hand atop a pile of underwear.

"You don't want me," she says the words quietly and accompanied by a pang in her chest.

And his face breaks as he crosses the room in a quick stride, head shaking, "No, Clara, that's not it at all."

"You wanted me on board the Tardis full time, you said so yourself, but as soon as you knew I was pregnant, you stopped asking," she thinks to herself, eyes glazing over slightly as she turns away. "It's all just been a game."

"No!" He leans on the packed case in front of him, "No, Clara, I was doing what I had to do to keep you safe! The more time you spend travelling with me, the more time your life is in danger – it's always been that way, but it's unfair of me to ask you to risk your unborn child."

"_Our_ unborn child," she reminds, eyes snapping back into focus to look at him. "You never intended to keep us. You think that keeping us safe is giving us up."

She can see the rage in his face – not at her, but at this predicament. He brings them aboard and he plays the dutiful husband, the wonderful father, but he knows it's dangerous for that to become a full-time life for all of them. Clara rounds the bed and stands next to him as he plants his hands at his hips and bows his head.

"They'll use you against me," he finally tells her softly. "Eventually someone will take you and use you against me and it'll be my downfall, Clara. If anything ever happened to you... I've had to lose you too many times already," he gives a small shake of his head as his eyes find the ceiling.

Clara takes hold of his hand and she points out, "They can show up on my front step, or at my job, or at Christmas dinner with my father… where am I safer?" She laughs. "Where am I better off?" She presses his hand to her stomach and the boy there kicks roughly. "Where is he better off?"

With a quick smile, the Doctor nods and he turns to her, free hand coming up to her neck, thumb brushing her cheek just beside her ear. "You're insane," he admits with a bit of a laugh.

"I _am_ Clara Oswald," she reminds.

"My impossible girl," he chuckles. "Carrying my impossible child." He gestures to her suitcases and asks quietly, "Is this really what you want?"

She nods, feeling the movements inside of her, the enthusiasm of a boy who seems to know the excitement in her heart as she smiles and watches the Doctor lift a case off the bed. He walks out from the room with it and Clara continues packing the second. She passes a glance at a photograph at her bedside. Going to it, she lifts it and holds tight to it, staring at the image of herself with her mother from not long before her death.

"I've found my leaf, mum. My exact leaf," she whispers, hugging the photo for a moment before going to drop it into her suitcase.


	7. Chapter 7

She's in the Tardis when it starts, walking slowly towards the console with an ache in her back and a throbbing just between her eyes. He'd been a whirlwind of activity for days and then suddenly he'd stopped. Clara makes a small noise of surprise at the contraction and shifts sideways, holding to the beam there until it rolls over and all is well again and she shouts out, "_Doctor_!"

Of course he can't hear her. He's got his head stuck in the bowels of the Tardis, arguing with her about the proper qualification of a nursery because he'd had to endure an argument with Clara when she'd entered a room that looked as though a circus had thrown up in an aquarium.

"And she doesn't think there should be fish! They're not even _real_ fish! I mean, honestly!" He growls, raising his head when Clara shouts at him from just outside the panel he's chest deep in. She's grasping at the back of his pants, pulling him out and he's struggling to not knock his head against the wires and panels inside. "What?!" He manages just before his head clocks the edge of the opening and he stands straight with a hand on his forehead, looking down at her as she stands before him.

Clara is breathing oddly is all he can think and it suddenly hits him and his eyes go wide as he points at her and then at her belly, words stuck in his throat as she nods and utters an exasperated, "Yeah."

"Now."

"YES, NOW!" Then she eyes him, "You said you had come up with a plan for this. You said it was important."

"Yes," he assures, but doesn't move.

Clara waves her arms and shouts, "Now would be a good time to put the plan into action, Doctor!"

The Tardis hums loudly, engines firing up as he rushes up to the console and she follows, slowly, hand atop her stomach. Clara lands in the cushioned seat and she watches him as he moves around the center looking panicked and his ridiculousness works to calm her. And then they've landed, suddenly, and she grabs hold of the seat and gives him a flustered look before he runs to the front doors and rushes through shouting,

"_Clara's exploding_!"

Then he runs back in and up to where she is and he helps her up as she tells him, "Yeah, always good to remember the one with the baby."

"Sorry," he manages, helping her towards the door where she sees Jenny entering, looking as white as a sheet as she joins them and looks Clara over before glancing up at the Doctor.

"Is she literally exploding, Doctor?" Jenny asks, concern painfully etched over her features.

Clara pinches her eyes shut and says, "No, I'm not exploding! I'm having a baby!"

"A baby," Vastra states as they exit the Tardis into the living room area of her home.

"London, Victorian London?" Clara asks. "This was your plan?"

The Doctor helps her sit on the couch and he kneels beside her, head tilted slightly, "I couldn't go to Earth, you know the complications; I didn't want to chance a future – so it seemed most prudent to go back, and I trust these three more than I probably should," he tells the reptilian woman staring down at him in shock.

"A little warning would have been nice," Vastra spits, but the Doctor throws her a look that she understands – he couldn't tell them because it would be putting them all in danger.

Strax comes charging into the room with a bucket shouting, "If the entrails remain intact, I may be able to reconstruct her!" He tosses the bucket at Jenny and raises a gun, "Point me at the enemy!"

Jenny holds the bucket lightly in her hand and smiles, "Strax, she's not exploding, she's having a baby."

Strax makes a face of disgust as he turns and looks to Clara, seated and waving, one hand still on her stomach. "Is this the boy that died, or the boy that committed suicide and then came back to life, or is it another boy altogether, and should I fetch a grenade in case of enemy fire?"

"Clara," the Doctor stands to tell him. "Clara Oswald. _Girl_ – WOMAN. Having a baby. I need your nurse skills right now, Strax, not your weapons."

He sets his gun down and pouts, but goes to find his scanner and a large bag of equipment that makes a series of clanks and crashes when he drops it down beside the couch and looks over Clara. He mutters something about a grenade as he punches several buttons.

Strax raises the scanner over her and she looks to the Doctor, "Are you sure he's certified?"

The nurse grunts angrily, "Are you sure it's a girl?"

"You'll find out soon enough, potato!" She tells him bluntly.

A hand on her shoulder, the Doctor nods, "He kept a version of you alive once, beyond when it should have been possible, and he brought Jenny back for us at Trenzalore – he's the best nurse in the universe, aren't you Strax?"

The Sontaran only grunts again as he taps the screen and looks up at the Doctor with a confused expression on his face as he says, "Time Lord?"

Jenny looks back to the Tardis expectantly while Vastra looks to the Doctor and says, "So it's true, the word going around."

Snapping her head back, Jenny says quickly, "Wait, there's not a bloke in there? This isn't another child of the Tardis thing like…" she looks to Clara and her eyes go wide, "It _is_ the Doctor's baby." Then she looks to the Doctor in confusion, "You can do that sort of thing?"

Clara shouts and they all look to her. "Doctor's baby, my baby. Our baby. Happened in the Tardis. Now that the details are sorted out, someone tell me everything is alright because I am properly terrified."

There's a small laugh beside her and she leans into it, finding his shoulder easily and she hugs him as he rubs her back and Strax clears his throat, waiting until Clara has refocused on him to tell her, "Baby is fine, should be here in twenty two minutes."

"What?" She says flatly. Then looks to the scanner, "That can't possibly tell you that," she starts to say, but there's a fire in her body and she's tensing up as everyone around her shouts out her name. Clara listens to the man at her ear, the one whispering her name, whispering that she's going to do beautifully, that they'll be holding their son in twenty two minutes and when the contraction ends, she's calm.

"Jenny," Vastra calls, pointing, "Get some cool water and a cloth. We'll need a clean blanket," she looks to Strax, "I presume you know the tools to use on a human for this situation?"

He growls at the presumption that he might not and he digs into his bag, pulling out a pair of scissors and tells her, "All that's required is a clamp and, possibly, some stitching." With a hard sigh, he kneels in front of Clara and says with a patronizing smile, "I'm going to have to take a look at the birthing outlet."

Clara makes a face of shocked disgust, but feels the Doctor squeeze her shoulder gently so she removes her underwear and looks to the sky as Strax begins to look, but when she hears an odd groan and a thump, she glances down to see the brave Sontaran keeled over against the carpet.

"He's the greatest nurse in the galaxy?" She shouts.

"Well, when Rory isn't around," the Doctor complains, then looks to Vastra, who nods and they shift Clara to lie on the couch.

"She's dilating," Vastra confirms, glancing up, "We should get her into one of the beds – it will be better for everyone involved."

With a nod, the Doctor lifts her carefully into his arms and follows the two women up the stairs and into a room, leaving Strax on the living room floor. He lays her down gently as Jenny puts a small dish of water down on the bedside table and Vastra moves to adjust the pillows for her.

Clara laughs, looking up at the Doctor who's smiling back down at her. "I guess I should have figured it wouldn't be normal."

He looks to the two women and rounds the bed, climbing on to sit beside her, draping an arm over her shoulder and laying his other hand on her stomach. "It's absolutely normal," he tells her with a rise of his eyebrows. "Lizard and her wife as your midwives; nurse passed out downstairs; husband at your side."

Vastra makes a quick hiss at the word 'husband' and Clara knows there is absolutely nothing normal about what's happening to her. She feels another contraction coming on and manages to say, "Oh, too quickly!" before she has to close her eyes and clench her teeth against it.

"Don't forget to breathe, Miss Clara," Jenny assures and she can feel the cool hand sliding into her own. "Oh, a baby for the Doctor," Jenny says, but it's not out of joy, it's a bit fearful and Vastra goes to the window to glance out at the skies.

They're darkening by the second, the sun having just set and she moves out of the room as Jenny begins to soak the rag to dab at Clara's forehead. Returning with a new scanner, she aims it at the skies and reads, trying to remain as calm as possible as she informs the Doctor, "I'm detecting a presence."

"A presence?" The Doctor questions, looking to Clara who's now staring up at him, chest heaving with fear as her brow knots together. He shakes his head and shifts away from her, going to take the scanner from her hands to look. And he laughs. "Impossible."

"What's impossible?" Clara asks weakly.

He points, "Good guys. It's all good guys radioing down, '_Good luck, Doctor_.'"

Vastra laughs then, unexpectedly, "I suppose those who would choose to protect you still outnumber those who would kill you." She takes the scanner back and continues to check the skies, just in case.

He doesn't take a second moment to consider it because Clara is wincing, squeezing Jenny's hand, and he moves back to her side quickly as Vastra moves to check on Clara. She listens to their voices, all telling her firmly that there's nothing to worry about and she can see a golden shower rising up around the window. Someone tells her it's a force field from the Tardis – she's given up her shield for them – and she laughs nervously.

_Mum, I really want you to be here right now._

Her heart is drumming loudly in her ears as she pushes on Vastra's command and she holds tight to Jenny's hand on her one side and to the Doctor's on her other. How did this happen so quickly? Yesterday she was on the swings contemplating her lost notebook and making plans to braid her hair for school – how was she laying in a strange house having a baby?

_Time flies so very fast, Clara_.

Laughing as a swell of relief floats over her body, she collapses back into the Doctor's arms and hears a small hiccup that ruptures into a set of strong wails and when she opens her eyes, she sees the child Vastra is presenting her. She suddenly feels as though she might burst, her heart so swollen with the love she feels for him she simply cries as he's waving his flexing palms against the chest that trembles with another cry.

And then he's lying against her, quieting as she cries and when she looks to the Doctor, he's glowing. He puts a tentative hand around the boy's head and wipes at his brow with a large thumb, watching as he squirms in response, a small gurgle of noise escaping him.

"Clara," he breathes, laughing through his tears, "Clara, he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The boy's fingers scrape at her chin and she takes the blanket Jenny is handing her, wrapping him up as best she can. She breathes with him at her chest, watching his small face contorting and stretching and then yawning. She yawns with him, suddenly exhausted.

"Doctor, you should take him," Vastra commands. "Clara needs to rest."

"I'm fine," Clara says, but her drooping eyes defy her and she allows the Doctor to take the boy.

With a nod, Vastra continues, "Maybe you could step outside for a few moments, allow the women to clean up a bit?"

He nods slowly, and looks to Clara, leaning closer to her a moment to kiss her gently before pulling away and smiling down at his son. She sighs a laugh and drops herself back against the pillows as he steps away, cradling the boy into the hallway.

She wakes a few hours later, to the shrill cries of the baby in the odd basinet at her side. Clara has seen it before, somewhere in the Tardis during a time she should never have remembered and she judges by its aged appearance and the writing that doesn't translate for her that it belonged to the Doctor. Or possibly to his first child.

Glancing inside, she sees the sad face that waits for her and she coo's at him, lifting him into her arms carefully and taking a few steps around the room to test the soreness of her body. It's not quite as bad as she'd feared, but she also had the sneaking suspicion that the Great Nurse downstairs might have given her something for the pain.

Watching the small lips that search out her breast, she walks to the window and sees the man outside. He's just outside of the Tardis, scanning the skies with his Sonic and reading – checking to make sure they're safe – and then he glances up at the window, giving her a smile and a small wave that she returns. Some old memory fluttering over her mind.

Clara chuckles to herself. "Your father," she tells the boy, "Is the most insane man you will ever meet, but he's also the most brilliant."

He sighs against her skin in response as he suckles and she rocks him slightly, watching the sun rise on the horizon and she swears she can see ships in the distance, their lights growing fainter and fainter as the sun's rays turn the sky pink. And she watches the hues dance over his small face as he watches her calmly.

"You came into this world on a promise," she assures, "A bow tie wrapped around the hands of two people who loved so much it was too much and you were made. And there won't be a single day that goes by for you that's normal, or easy, but you will be loved – more than any child in the universe – you will be loved."

The Doctor clears his throat from the doorway and she turns to smile at him, watching as he approaches slowly. "The ships are clearing; they're indicating clear skies, at least for the time being."

"We should be leaving soon, then?" Clara questions, looking down at the boy who makes a small squeak as he yawns into her.

Nodding, the Doctor comes to stand in front of her, bending to kiss the pale skin of the infant's forehead before kissing her own head and cupping a hand behind her neck. "Have you settled on a name?"

She presses her lips together in a shy smile and nods, telling him quietly, "Elliot."

"After your mum," he nods approvingly and looks at the boy, "Elliot Oswald." Then he laughs, "Sounds like a poet."

She shakes her head, "Space Adventurer."

Dropping his hand to her shoulder, he pulls her closer, "He'll be what he'll be and the universe will be a better place for it."

Clara lays her head on the Doctor's chest and hears his heartbeats drumming away, lulling her back into a dreamlike state where she can almost imagine the duo, dancing about the Tardis console. It's both terrifying and calming and she smiles as she listens to the gurgle of noise at her chest and glances down at the baby who's now looking up at her, small grin tugging momentarily at his lips. He would definitely be unique.


	8. Chapter 8

She's watching them from just beside the console, leaned up against the railing, arms crossed on her chest, grin plastered on her lips, as the Doctor points and speaks softly to the boy in his arms. He's grown a full head of thick brown hair and slaps at his father's shoulder, babbling loudly and doing some pointing of his own.

"No, no, no, no, you don't want to push that one – send us flying into space," he pauses to listen to the shouts that emerge from the shaking baby's head, "Elliot, I don't care what the Tardis tells you, that button is dangerous."

And the boy lowers his head, pouting. Clara laughs then, tilting her head slightly and gaining the attention of the Doctor, who smiles sheepishly. "One day I imagine I'm going to have to rescue you both," she allows and it gains her a frown before she pushes off the railing and tells him sternly, "Don't give me that face."

"I'm not giving you a face," he responds before looking to the boy who squeaks and he tells him, "I was _not_ giving mum a face."

"He agrees with me," she offers, lifting her arms to take the boy into hers. Elliot grabs tight to her neck and lays his head down on her shoulder, playing with the length of hair hanging against her back. "And it's time for his nap."

"He says he doesn't require a nap," the Doctor tells her.

She snorts, "He says that because he's your son and wants nothing more than to stay out here being foolish and pressing buttons." She looks up at the Tardis, "And don't think it wasn't lost on me that you're telling my son to press buttons that'll jettison him out into space."

The colors shift slightly, turning pinkish before returning to their natural blues. The Doctor follows her as she makes her way into the first corridor and around a corner to the first set of doors, pushing into the second one.

His room is a soft sky color and it has the look of an ordinary nursery, save for the odd assortment of toys they've picked up on random planets. Clara lays him down in his bed and he smiles up at her, dimples carving their way into his cheeks before he turns to his side and finds a stuffed animal to argue with.

Clara grins when the Doctor's hand intertwines with her own and she looks up into his face to see him staring adoringly down at his son. She sighs, satisfied that she'd made the right decision to stay with him – to even open the door on that first day – as she pulls him away from the room, flicking a switch that dims the lights and starts up an aquarium display across the ceiling.

"Every time I look at him," the Doctor tells her, "I'm in awe of how perfectly the universe creates."

"Give us some credit," Clara tells him with a light punch to the arm, then she frowns, "One day he won't look like me anymore, will he." It's a sad thought that she tries to push away – that one day her son will regenerate and he'll be another man and when she looks up at the Doctor, he's turned away. "Will he, Doctor?"

He shrugs and sighs, looking down at her feet, "You don't have much control over what you look like when you regenerate, but what you're made of, that stays the same." He smiles at her, "He'd still be the same person on the inside, just… a newly flavored soufflé."

Her lips tighten into an accepting grin and she nods, "And you?" She tugs at his bow tie, "One day this won't be your face."

"And I will still love you and Elliot, even after a hundred regenerations."

Her heart hurts at the words because she knows in a hundred regenerations she'll be long gone and despite everything she wishes, she would want him to find someone else. She would never want the Doctor to be alone and she knows what her mortality means.

"Let's not think on it now," he tells her, hands at her neck, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "Let's land," he tells her in an astonished voice, and she ignores the fact that she knows some part of him is getting Elliot out of his nap time. "Let's visit someplace… awesome," he smiles when she does and they rush to the console, him pulling a lever and pressing a knob into the metal to the boom of the engine as the Tardis excitedly takes them wherever he's thinking and Clara lets out a laugh.

This was her life now, wasn't it.


	9. Chapter 9

It comes too quickly. She grips the toddler in her arms and watches the Doctor struggling within the grasp of something electric that's shooting out from another Sonic device. He's told her about this menace before – the Master. He should be gone, but he isn't. He's laughing manically from the top of the steps, holding tightly to a Sonic he's created to destroy the Doctor.

"Stop, please!" Clara pleads, hearing Elliot crying into her shoulder, feeling his grip on her tightening as though he can feel the pain of his father.

They shouldn't have gone to the planet; shouldn't have trusted the letter that told them they knew how to free Gallifrey and give the Doctor back his home planet, his people. The Doctor said it himself, it was impossible – but he was travelling with his impossible girl and their impossible child and he thought it might… well, it might be possible. He could give Clara a new home; give his son a field of fire to run through and a scarlet mountain to climb.

"Look how he squirms," the Master tells her deviously. "And his new face, I do like his new face – so much more emotive than the last I saw… I can almost sympathize, my old friend."

She can't take it, she stands and holds Elliot tightly against her body, listening to him wailing in her ear and she looks to see the Doctor staring up at her, shaking his head indistinctly. "No," he mouths, "No," he repeats.

"You never get to make that decision for me," she mouths back sternly, and she rushes sideways towards where a dead soldier is lying. Setting Elliot down, she picks up the soldier's rifle in a quick exchange and she stands to shoot in the instance she feels the spark of fire course through her body. She can see the Doctor's been released from the ray of the Sonic though and despite the pain, she's happy.

"NO!" The Doctor shouts out as she falls, and she smiles when she sees the bullet's hit its mark as she falls to the ground, her head lying close enough to Elliot for the boy to grasp at her cheek. "No," he repeats silently, dragging himself towards her as his skin erupts in a floating blaze of gold and he holds it off, grimacing against the effort it takes.

Clara's body isn't equipped to take the blow from the Sonic – no human's is – and the Doctor knows it because his isn't even strong enough and he concentrates on the regeneration already beginning to swirl his molecules. He reaches out to her desperately and Clara's hand drops towards him as she smiles. "You'll regenerate," she promises, then blinks up at the boy calling to her. "He'll be safe."

There's a burst of energy from the top of the stairs. The Master will regenerate as well and he'll be just as dangerous and just as anxious to destroy them, but the Doctor grasps her hand and he sends a jolt of regenerative energy through her. Clara can't breathe for a moment as it works to understand her body and begins to heal the damage that had been done and she scowls because it's cheating. He's cheated for her and she doesn't know what it means for him and that frightens her more than the sizzling sensation taking over her.

For a moment she feels like she might just explode and then it dissipates and she glances over to see him standing, hands and head aglow as he approaches the man who's just finished his own regeneration. He's got a head of curly ginger hair and the Doctor makes a face of disgust and shouts, "Oh, that's not even fair."

The Master laughs, hands studying his face as the Doctor makes his way up the stairs slowly, deliberately, and Clara turns to look at Elliot, who's watching, enraptured. "Come, baby," she calls, groaning as she pulls herself off the ground and picks the boy up, shifting to sit just behind a pillar and she watches as the Doctor speaks to the man in front of them and something like understanding begins to cross the red head's face and he shakes it, starting to run, but the Doctor grabs hold of him.

And the other man is screaming.

Clara knows what he's doing without being told. The Doctor has told her that regenerative energy can be incredibly powerful – for both regeneration and for destruction – and she watches the other man melting away, his own energy trying to repair the damage. But it's too late. There's almost nothing left of him by the time the Doctor begins to change himself.

Another burst of regenerative energy radiates out and Elliot squeals his discontent, reaching out for his father. Clara can see the long thick locks that had always fallen over his face in a flop begin to curl inward and his height is dropping down just a notch. She closes her eyes because she doesn't want to look. She knows what his face will look like already, has seen it before in what feels like a distant lifetime, but she doesn't want it to change.

She wants Elliot to grow up with one father – one face – and she's angry that he's allowed this to happen so soon. Clara had been hoping to explain it to her son before it happened so that he would understand. The Doctor was certain everything would be fine and she believed him because it was easier to than to think anything like this would have been happening so quickly after Elliot has been born. She holds their son as he calls for his father and cries against her.

Oh, how I wish the hands of time could reverse, she thinks to herself. To take back this day and start it anew and tear the letter apart; never let him see it, and ask him to take them to a planet that's entirely a zoo. Elliot loves the zoo, especially where the animals speak and he can ride the lion looking creature that's as gentle as a teddy bear.

"Clara?"

His voice has changed, softened somewhat, and there's a different accent – something like Scottish, she thinks – and it makes her chest hurt as she feels his hand landing softly on hers. Elliot is silent and still, fists pressed roughly into her flesh just beneath her collar and she opens her eyes to look at her boy. Her boy staring over at the man with a curious look on his face that shifts quickly into a smile and he mumbles, "Daddy's funny now."

With a laugh, Clara turns to see the man who's looking at her apprehensively. "He would know it's you," she tells him, hand coming up to touch the speckle of beard at his cheek before her thumb moves over his thick bottom lip and she sniffs, "Hello, you."

"I'm the same man, Clara," he assures and she nods.

"Of course," she tells him as he helps her off the ground and settles a hand at her neck. "I know it's still you," she says softly, tears flowing over her cheeks as he suddenly grunts and falls against her.

"Still processing," he grumbles and she puts Elliot down, holding his hand as she gives the Doctor her body to lean against, helping him towards the Tardis that's lying on its side just a few feet away, tucked in a corner of the room and Elliot rushes to it, clapping, and it opens for the boy.

Clara watches him climb up over the edge and fall in with a giddy squeal and then he's babbling to her and she knows he's safe inside. She presses a hand to the chest of the man she half carries and she helps him up onto the edge and pushes him through, losing her balance and falling atop him just inside, where gravity has corrected itself.

With a laugh, she leans on her palms and looks at the Doctor, lying under her with a grin on his face and he teases,. "You're thinking of test driving the new model, aren't you?"

She shrugs and then makes a face, "Not in that sense," she kisses him lightly, tickled by the fuzz at his upper lip. "I'm just glad you're still around," she tells him, shifting off him and moving to close the Tardis door and head to the console to get them moving again. "How much time will you need, darling?" She sings.

He's breathing easily on the ground, Elliot now walking over each of his legs and then turning to walk back over them – as though this were all some game, and the Doctor responds in a wheeze, "Maybe a few hours, we should get to the Sophezius galaxy, they do have great tea." He licks his lips, "I hope I still enjoy tea."

Clara gives him a twist of her lips that he can't see and she moves around the Tardis knowingly, turning a handle and bopping a knob and she types in a destination on a screen off a small list taped to the console and the machine makes a startling bang before the familiar whoops and twirls of sound begin. Leaning on the console, she looks down at the Doctor and smiles as Elliot curls up at his side, thumb in his mouth, ready for a nap.


	10. Chapter 10

_I was asked, but I can't reply - yes, for this story the new Doctor is Richard Madden._

* * *

"I just don't see why I can't have friends!"

He's lanky, knobby knees sticking out from a space between shorts he's outgrowing and multi-colored socks that should never have been given to him and Clara is following him around the console as he squeezes his fists shut at his sides and then raises them, open palmed in the air to continue his tirade. Just like the man who'd helped make him – Eleven.

She knows they're all the same, but there are small shifts in personality. Every time she watches Twelve stroke a hand over the stubble of a beard he keeps and give her a small smile while raising an eyebrow over his bright, but brooding eyes, she considers how very much the same, but how very much different he is from the others. In a small sense, he is another man. But nothing changes between her Doctor and her son. And her son is growing up amidst the chaos of her Doctor. She's startled sometimes, how quickly he's growing.

He's eight now. Eight, and so very alone.

"We visit Jenny and Vastra and Strax, and sometimes we see grandpa, and sometimes we see Artie and Ang, but I don't go to school and I can't go over anyone's house and I don't understand why we can't just land and be some place and some time for good," he turns and gives her a familiar lowering of his brow, head and neck hunched slightly in a way that makes her smile. His face is hers, but his posture is his father's.

Clara catches his shoulder and turns him around, looks at the olive skin tone that's now beet red as he huffs, dark eyes finding hers through a thick mop of hair she's grown tired of asking him to keep trim and he waits for her answer. "Elliot, you know why things are the way they are."

He growls into the air and turns away from her again, storming off the console and pushing past his father, who raises an eyebrow and asks, "I miss something?"

"Your son is bored."

"Let's find a new planet," he smiles, moving around her, but she stops him. "I take it this is about more than just being bored."

"He doesn't have any friends," Clara pleads quietly, not wanting Elliot to overhear.

Scoffing, the Doctor replies, "What d'you mean, he's got loads of friends!" And he holds a hand up, counting, "Jenny and Vastra and Strax, their dog Boxie, Artie and his girlfriend, Angie and her husband – are they still married? He didn't seem the best of blokes..."

She shakes her head, "No, he has no friends of his own," she turns to lean on the console. "It wasn't a good idea to go back to Earth."

"It was your idea," he points out.

She nods, biting her lip. "I thought he'd enjoy knowing his grandfather."

"And he does," the Doctor assures. "He loves learning about Earth sports, pretty good at football – and coming from me, that's saying something."

Slapping his arm playfully, she frowns, "I just hate to see him so sad."

Turning, he bends next to her and touches her cheek, strokes it gently and she smiles up into his bearded face and wrinkles her nose, "Trim that," she points.

He shakes his head and kisses her, then presses his forehead to hers, "Naw, you like it too much."

Clara sighs and runs her hands over the brown fuzz and nods slowly before moving away from him and down the corridor to find her son. He's not in his bedroom, or in his second bedroom, or in the playground room, or the sand room, or the computer room, or the pool room, or the anti-grav room, or the astronomy room, and she finally finds him – in all places – the old companion space on the top bunk.

"Hey," she says softly, climbing the stairs to lean her arms on the bed beside his head. "I'm sorry."

He turns then, giving her a familiar pained expression, "It's not your fault, mum. I know you and dad are just doing the best you can out here."

He's too young to be so rational and she ruffles his hair, the memory of her Doctor smiling back at her painted on his face. "We love you, you know that."

There's his smile, awkward and dimpled, and he looks over at her and nods, "It's just frustrating sometimes."

"I know," she tells him. "Honestly, I know."

And he laughs at her tone because he absolutely knows she's telling the truth. Shifting his head to look at her, he asks quietly, "Do you miss home? I mean, all of the things from there – friends and the shopping and the Earth stuff?"

Clara shrugs and admits honestly, "Sometimes, yes. I miss it terribly. It's not easy to find a strawberry tea or a good 'Mumford and Sons' album out in the abyss, but it's all a trade-off," she tells him, hand at his head. "Everything in life is, really. It's all sitting out there for you, but you can't have it all, so you choose and you find everything that's good and you try to forget about what you're missing because it's not that important." She smiles at the nod he gives her and she asks, "Is it really that awful? Are you that mad?"

Elliot chuckles and lowers his chin slightly before shaking his head at her. "I just wish sometimes that there were other people on board, other people my age."

And in that instance she regrets not having a second child. It wasn't up to her though, it was the universe's decision and it hadn't decided to gift her twice and she'd accepted it, but now? She wishes they'd found a way around the universe and its rules. She looks into her sons eyes as he searches hers.

"I'm sorry," she tells him again.

He laughs, a glimmer of tears gone in the blink of an eye as he looks back at her, "Stop apologizing, mum, it's really not your fault."

"I just wish I could give you everything – everything you could ever dream," she tells him quietly, honestly.

"I know," he responds in a whisper.

Clara feels a pat at her backside and finds the Doctor leaning on her, grinning goofily up at her as he declares, "Landed."

Elliot leans on his elbow and asks, "Where?"

"Intergalactic playground," he shifts sideways to tell him. "Children of all ages, all corners of the universe, dropped off for the day… I'm fairly certain you could make a friend or two there. I've met a fair amount of interesting people."

"Doctor," Clara tells him, "You're not a child!"

He raises his eyebrows and looks confused, "I'm not?"

Elliot laughs and falls back against the bed, staring up at the space on the ceiling where names are written and he traces his finger over them, memorizing them. One day he'll choose his own companion and the thought delights him as he smiles back at his parents as they make their way to the door. He'll find a girl like his mum and he'll show her the stars.


	11. Chapter 11

Her scream is all that echoes against the rubble that remains of the archway into the old ruins and then she's numb, staring ahead at Elliot, who's crumpled to the ground in front of her. Protecting her. "No," she mouths, then repeats the word over and over and she rushes forward to him.

They'd gotten involved in another Dalek war, another stupid Dalek war, and she doesn't look up when she feels the coat tails whoosh past her. And all of his rage channeled at the five feet of steel just beyond them that's begun to shake with realization as the Sonic disables its weapons – a setting she demanded he create years ago, chastising him for being so stupid to not create it sooner.

"Elliot, _Elliot_, _please_," she pleads, lifting him up and rolling him into her lap. She can barely see his face through her tears as she presses a hand to his chest, feels for the familiar double beat of his hearts, and she watches the slits of his eyes open just slightly. "God, Elliot," she manages, hearing an explosion nearby and knowing it's the Dalek because the man is still shouting.

There are parts flying now, and something fleshy slops onto the ground and she looks up to see the Doctor standing next to the open Dalek, his right hand purple with its blood and his chest is heaving, trembling as he looks to her and all of that vengeance melts away when he sees his son shift in her lap. He pushes his clean hand through his dark hair, sighing as he takes in the scene before him – his son lying so still in Clara's arms – and feels his insides fall apart. He knows what he reads on her face: it's too soon.

"Mum," he whispers, "Mum, I feel strange," he tells her and she sees something swirling over his skin. Something she knows better than she should.

"No," she shouts, "No, _you_ don't change. No!" She grips him tightly and pulls him up into her chest, hugging him from behind, her arms wrapped around him as his forehead rests against her chin.

"Clara," the Doctor tells her quickly, "You need to move away."

"No, he's fine! He won't regenerate!" She shouts back angrily. She knows it will still be him, she understands that it's better than he can regenerate than have her burying him on some Dalek wasteland, but she doesn't want to lose his face. Not her son's face.

The Doctor is on her then, tearing her away as she screams and Elliot's body falls back to the ground weakly. Clara tries to push him away; punching and clawing at the smooth leather he's wearing and looking to her boy. Her baby boy. _He's only thirteen_. He shifts and his skin is sparkling, slowly growing in radiance until he turns himself over and stands on shaky legs.

"No," he tells himself, looking up at her with yellowed eyes. "No," he repeats and she falls to the ground as she watches him, the Doctor holding her up, crouched down behind her, feeling his heart breaking alongside Clara's.

Elliot is tall, stupidly tall, and his limbs are bony and his hair hangs full and raggedy around his head and she memorizes his face – his true face, the one that came from her and the Eleventh – because she knows this will be the last time she sees it.

"No, mum," he growls, "I won't look like you anymore. I won't… I don't want to lose myself. I don't want to lose your…" he struggles with his words as he struggles against the regeneration.

"Elliot, don't," the Doctor warns. Then he stands, pulling Clara to her feet and holds her tight because she's already falling, already shattered, "Concentrate on what you want to look like – keep that face in your mind – hold onto it. Want it, son. Want it so badly you can't think about anything else. And hope. Hope with all of your heart…" his words fade away as the energy bursts from the boy's arms and legs and shoots straight up into the roof of the chamber as it shakes in response.

Clara wants to look away, but instead she finds a smile in the notion that this is a new birth. She knows the Doctor lies – knows he lied to his son – so she watches his features change through the golden light that's burning her eyes to stare into, and she waits. She feels the strong arms holding her in place, feels the hand at her shoulder stroking gently and she blinks the tears away.

He's gotten smaller, but he's still taller than herself at such a young age, and his hair waves slightly, and is a lighter shade of brown, and when the light floats away, he stares at her, a look of wanting on his face. And she laughs. His nose is flatter, longer, and his brow is heavier and she continues to laugh. And the Doctor joins her while Elliot drops to his knees.

Clara gives the Doctor a slight push and he releases her and she moves slowly to him, dropping to her knees in front of him to touch his face. "It's different," she allows, but she caresses his cheeks and wraps her fingers around the back of his neck before kissing his fore head, "More like your father's face when I met him."

"You said he had a stupid face," Elliot whispers, voice breaking – it hasn't changed much.

"I loved his stupid face," she responds.

And they laugh together as she reaches back for the Doctor, closing her eyes when he takes her hand and they stand, Clara glancing around before asking, "We should be running, shouldn't we?"

"Family that runs together lives to run together another day," the Doctor tells her, leaning back on his heels slightly before tugging her back in the direction of the Tardis. "Also, the bomb is about to detonate, so we really should be vortex bound sooner rather than later," he checks his watch before checking on Elliot's condition – because he knows regeneration can be difficult sometimes, but the boy is at ease, long fingers curling easily around Clara's and he gives him a sheepish smile he recognizes with a smirk of his own.

They run in tandem, arriving and pushing through the Tardis doors and Clara and the Doctor are already on the console, working together to choose a destination as Elliot locks the door behind them and comes to stand on the pathway to console before falling with a sigh into the seat there. He laughs when they cross each other with a quick high five, his mother doing a twirl and coming to stop just as his father does on the other side and they're giddy as they watch one another.

Clara looks to her son, mouth gapping in a frozen laugh as he watches them and she sighs, memories flooding her because her time with that face had been so short and she hopes her time with him now would be longer. Long enough to see the man this face becomes – how similar it would be to his. When she glances back at the Doctor, there's a silent jealousy there as he turns away, grinning and working the levers in front of him as she toggles a switch near her.

"Elliot, you might want to grab hold of something," the Doctor allows before nodding to her, "Clara."

She reaches for a handle on the console and they do a quick dip and drop and then whoosh forward, a tickle rolling through her stomach as they fly towards their destination and she can hear Elliot shouting, "Where are we going, dad?"

"Someplace far and new and made of sponges."

"Sponges?" Clara and Elliot ask at once.

He smiles, "I love a good sponge."


	12. Chapter 12

They're standing side by side, backs leaned up against the console, and she's been berating them for the better part of the past ten minutes. Father and son with their arms crossed over their chests and they've both got one leg crossed over the other, waiting patiently for her to finish.

And when she does, when she finally says, "And you certainly don't drop me down a chute into a pile of furry spiders – even for my safety – without warning," they both share a grin that she walks straight up to. She reaches up and grabs her husband by the collar and her son by his worn bow tie and she pulls their faces down to her height and hisses, "Is that understood? Boys!"

Elliot is the first to nod, a bit of fear over his grimace and when the Doctor simply grins and nods beside him, she laughs lightly, eyes closed, and releases them with a shake of her head. Clara sighs and turns away from them to sit at the cushioned seat there. It's a new color now, a bright green that hurts her eyes every time she looks at it. The whole Tardis is new again. She imagined it was only a matter of time, and also there were two men aboard who had a combined curiosity level too dangerous to contemplate.

Her son is a man, she knows.

His voice is deep and he talks with assuredness and charm and sometimes she wants to smack the smug grin off his face when he's met a girl he fancies just a bit too much because they're never the sort she would approve of. He's tall and handsomely awkward with a devilish smile and a cockiness about him that's frustrating to them both. But he's perfectly their son for it.

"Mum," he calls after her, amusement heavy on his voice, "If we hadn't, you'd have been shot by the Cult of Hordas and you know how cross you would have been then."

"I've been shot before," she snarks back, gaining a shrug from the Doctor.

"And I only have so much regenerative energy on each turn," he reminds sadly.

Clara sighs her discontent before she rubs her temples and watches them go back to their conversation about the Time War and how it might be possible to unlock the time, but it would be impossible to control the war and she moves to stand between them and they both go silent.

"Love," the Doctor says plainly, "You know how I hate to exclude you and I know how you'll hurt me later for this, but, it's kind of a boy's talk here."

"You're talking about war," she tells him. "Women have been in the trenches for… what year are we in?"

"I know," he raises a hand, "I know, but…" his voice trails as she understands and nods, slipping back away from the console and towards the Tardis corridors. Elliot's a grown man and he's beyond his boyish fantasies of an Earthly life – he's a Time Lord.

She smiles to herself as she walks slowly. It was only a matter of time before the one lifestyle overcame the other. Before he stopped being her baby boy and truly became _the Doctor's son_. She just supposed it would have happened after she was gone, not while she still had fight left in her. Clara thinks about her age and looks down at her hands, grasping them together as she bats away tears. At some point it would be safer for them to leave her back on Earth.

She's forty five.

Getting ever too close to the time, which seems so far but will come too quickly, when she'll simply be too old for this life. And they'll float away, coming back for an occasional visit – she'd insist on every Wednesday, but she knows how time works for them – and eventually they'd come back and she would be gone. Clara doesn't know why the idea suddenly hits her like a rock in her stomach and she reaches out for the Tardis wall and finds a young hand.

Elliot is staring down at her when she turns and she immediately looks away, not wanting him to see her tear stained face and the sadness on it. She reserves those moments for the Doctor because he understands in a way Elliot doesn't yet. He hasn't had to let anyone go yet. Not in the way he will when she's gone. They'd had a handful of new companions, had shared their family adventure with them and they'd dropped them back at their doorstep a few years later with a wave and a promise they all knew would be broken the minute they left.

"Sometimes dad just wants to be the one in charge, you know?" He tells her softly.

She turns and laughs, "When is he not?"

Elliot raises a long finger to wipe a tear from her cheek with his knuckle and he dips slightly, "Mum, you're the center here, the heart, the thing we gravitate around. Been that way for as long as I can remember. Probably be that way forever," he finishes absently.

She smiles up and caresses his face, pulls him down to kiss his cheek, and she shakes her head. "One day you'll miss me bossing you around."

His eyes sadden and she realizes, he's thought about it as well. He's aware of who he his – of what he is – and he understands that his mother would become frail and it would simply be too dangerous. Elliot nods and then smiles away his broken heart and tells her cheerfully, "We've found the biggest shopping mall this side of Andromeda."

"Shopping?" She questions with a light laugh, going along with his refusal to acknowledge the inevitable. It's easier than confronting it; the way it always is with the both of them. "All of the universe and you're keen on shopping?"

"Dad says I could find stuff, for the new Tardis."

"New Tardis?" She asks quietly, "Why do I get the impression you don't mean a new interior, but an actual new living Tardis."

His mouth falls open slightly and his eyes widen and she knows immediately: this wasn't something she was supposed to know about. Clara presses her lips together and walks back to the console, moving up to where the Doctor is quietly arguing with a button that's jammed – a button that continually jams in this new shell – and she pokes him hard in the shoulder.

"He's let slip about the new Tardis," the Doctor surmises before her mouth opens to speak.

"How can there be a new Tardis?" She glances around, "Where is the new Tardis? It can't be here, that would create a paradox. Bubble universe in a bubble universe. I remember, and don't think I don't understand the whole bigger-on-the-inside mumbo jumbo you give everyone who comes aboard. Don't tell me you're making a new Tardis inside this Tardis?"

HIs hands are coming up, grasping at her shoulders as an amused expression falls over his face and he shakes his head, "It's on Earth."

"EARTH?" She shouts.

The Doctor nods slowly, "Safest place in the universe, really. Left it in your father's yard. He promised to look after it years ago."

"Years," she repeats. "Wait. Years?"

"Growing a Tardis doesn't happen overnight," he spits back in frustration. "It's a task to get a proper one grown in twenty years!"

"Twenty years?" She glances back at Elliot, who's just at the corridor entrance, not approaching. "_You've been growing a Tardis for twenty years_? You've been growing a Tardis for twenty years. Since he was born. You've been growing _his_ Tardis. Without telling _me_?"

He shrugs, "I thought I did," he makes a face, "Must have gotten lost in the whole raising a child and saving the universe, but yes. Growing a Tardis – he can't live with his mum and dad his whole life, Clara! Besides, it wasn't my idea, it was hers," He gestures at the Tardis. "She gave birth when you did, down in the architectural reconfiguration system, for him."

Clara nods slowly, looking up at the glowing center that's turned as bright blue as the day they told her she was pregnant and Clara understands – she would protect Elliot to the end of her days as well. She smiles, lowering her eyes to the ground and then looking back to the man who approaches hesitantly.

"So, gonna explore the whole of time and space as well," she tells him. "Without us."

His eyes redden slightly as he tells her, "Endings are inevitable, without them there are no new beginnings."

She laughs, turning to look at the Doctor, watching him turn away and she bites her lip. They are reaching an inevitable end, but the man before her isn't as good at understanding as her son appears to be and she goes to him, slipping a hand at his waist and tilting her head to catch his eye. She whispers, "We're not there just yet."

His hand glides easily to the side of her neck, thumb comfortable against her cheek, he nods.


	13. Chapter 13

"I don't understand!" He shouts and slaps the console of the second Tardis with a rag and then aims his Sonic at it and growls in frustration. Beneath them, Elliot is tinkering with the controls, trying to use what he's learned of his father's Tardis on his own, but she won't even wake. She simply stands still as they argue over what could possibly have gone wrong.

And Clara stands against the console, feeling somewhat useless. It's her fiftieth birthday and they'd hoped to take Elliot's Tardis on its maiden voyage, but she was dead in the water – and Clara was absolutely sure the machine was dead. It wasn't humming or churning or pulsing or chiding the way the Doctor's Tardis did. With a thought, she walks calmly out through one bright and new police box and into the aged one across from it.

"Why won't she fly?" She asks as she holds the railing and climbs towards the center. "I know you can hear me, why won't my son's Tardis fly? Why won't she wake? Why is she dead?"

An image flickers at her side and she turns quickly to see herself. Herself as she'd looked the day she first stepped inside the Tardis, mug of tea still settled in her hand. The Tardis tilts her head slightly and asks, "Why am I alive?"

Clara considers the question. She'd never considered the question. What makes a Tardis live? And then a glow slips out from the crevices and illuminates the room and Clara knows the story, tells her excitedly, "You have a soul! The soul and the heart of the Tardis!" Then she shakes her head, "But why doesn't the other?"

"You gave birth to a son; I created a machine."

"It needs a soul," Clara surmises to a short nod. "Well, how do we get one?"

The Tardis stares at her. Curious look on her face as she tells her, "You've absorbed a lifetime of radiation from the Tardis, more than any other human ever has, more than any human should be capable of. Lifetimes upon lifetimes worth, stored in your cells. Enough to take an aging Tardis to Trenzalore."

Her heart is still a moment as she considers what her holographic self is saying before giving a simple and determined, "How?"

"No, Clara," comes the response from the door and she looks over to see the Doctor entering, pained expression wrinkling his features.

"Doctor, let's be honest here," she touches her hands together, and gives a small laugh, "As much as I know you need someone by your side, you need someone younger."

"You're not old," he tells her quietly.

She laughs again at him, "Don't know if you've noticed, Doctor, but we're visiting those healing waters on Volaraxium a lot more often lately."

He looks away before shaking his head. "Elliot will just stay with us. He doesn't need a Tardis – he can be our companion."

Clara nods and turns back to the Tardis, leaning against the console. "I'll be with him," she tells her.

"You won't be able to see," the Doctor says sternly, making his way towards her. "You'll be able to hear, you'll be able to help, you'll be conscious of all of the time passing. You'll understand what's happening everywhere on the ship and you'll know everything that happens in the Tardis. Every new companion, every person cared for and every person that leaves, you'll feel it."

"Good." She looks to him with a sad smile. "I won't go to Elliot's Tardis, Doctor," she pats the metal and coral fragments underneath her fingers, "I'd be right here, with you. Right until the end."

He manages an amused grin that's tainted with sorrow. "You've already sacrificed so much for me, Clara. You've already been with me – from Gallifrey to Trenzalore."

"And I would do it a million times over if it means your happiness - my son's happiness." She shakes her head and huffs a laugh, "I thought you understood that."

He swallows hard and looks up at the Tardis and then over at the hologram that stands beside Clara. "Is it possible?" Then he laments as the hologram nods sadly, "It is _possible_. Why wouldn't it be," he smiles at her, "_My_ Clara; my _impossible_ girl."

She watches him clench his jaw, eyes watering as he refuses to look back at her. Oh how he hates a goodbye, she thinks to herself, but she knows it won't be. Somewhere inside she knows this is simply a new beginning – just as her son had told her, and just as her son had told her, she'd remain the heart and the center of this incredibly brilliant and ridiculous man's world. Just in a different way, a way that might occasionally pain her and occasionally drive her mad, but she would be there.

"One more impossible task," she tells him, catching his eye and he wipes at her tears as he stops fighting his own, letting them drop over his cheeks as she raises her hands to catch them. "One more impossible run," she adds as the door to the Tardis opens again and Elliot looks up at them.

The lights of the Tardis go dim and Clara feels an odd sensation in her chest as her hologram disappears and her skin starts to glow. She turns to see the young man who rushes towards her, eyes wide with fear and she raises a golden hand to him to stop him as the Doctor steps away.

"Doctor, we promised each other forever," she smiles, "It was never going to be what we wanted, but it is what it was and you know? It was pretty awesome," she laughs then, remembering that first time he asked her where she wanted to go.

"Mum," Elliot manages, looking between his parents, trying to reconcile what was happening, but his mind is as quick as his fathers and he looks back to the doors that have snapped open, and shakes his head, "No, mum, no – I don't need..."

But the soul of the Tardis spills out around him, through him, and through the open doors in a flood of streaking stardust and it envelops the second Tardis, invading every molecule of its existence before it booms to life, the light at its top shining out into the darkening skies. Elliot watches it, but he turns back and sees the fading physicality of his mother in front of him.

"It's alright, Elliot," she nods, watching as he cries and knowing she can no longer comfort him. It seems only fitting, and entirely unfair, that she's the first woman to both fill and break his hearts. "You were the best thing I ever did, the most important boy in all of the universe – the product of a promise of love." She smiles as he nods, inhaling raggedly as his knees go weak and he falls to watch her disappearing. "You find someone good and you take her to the stars. You run and you fight, bravely and honestly and carefully, and you remember to check in on me and your father every once in a while – for as long as you can."

He moves to her, raising a hand to touch hers, but when he does, she scatters with a quick gasp, flowing upwards in a twirling vortex that spirals its way into the Tardis around them and she slowly comes to life within the machine. Clara can see her life flowing through her mind like the broken reels of an old projector. She can see with a clarity she'd never had her childhood, her mother's laughter and her father's silly faces to amuse her and she can see the children she cared for, growing before her eyes. She sees the Doctor in her youth and she sees him again on the swings and again at her mother's grave. She sees him at her front door the first time with his monk robes and his disheveled hair.

Exhaling the last breath in her lungs, Clara lives her life with him in the span of a second that lasts twenty five years. The flirtatious adventures, the times he showed off and the times she called him on his stupidity. The first kiss and the moment they stopped holding back and started to love without boundaries. She sees the moments he laid at her side with a hand at her belly and the days he rocked their son as she slept. Clara relives Elliot's first steps and his first words and the way he cried when he needed to be comforted and the way he laughed when his father told him stories.

She closes her eyes to the reality of the world around her and succumbs to the world where there is no vision, only emotion. She feels his small bony arms wrap around her body when he was frightened of a monster the Doctor had yet to destroy and she feels the palm, so easily at her cheek, as it caressed her regularly to soothe her. Clara feels the love in her for them and she pours it out into the mechanics she now possesses. She flows through it and she finds the two men still standing at the console and she sighs with relief.

The colors on the walls are like the leaves of fall and the Doctor smiles as he cries, watching them dance and he feels Elliot at his side, grasping at his legs, and he drops beside him, pulls him closer to hug him tightly.

"Your mother and I," the Doctor whispers with a laugh and a million memories float through his mind. Her laughter and her tears and the odd little giggle he cherished so. Her pout and her dimpled grin and her mangled soufflés. He looks up at the pumpkin orange that settles itself and the quiet in the console room, the calm that she brings to it and he simply laughs.

End. (Thank you for reading!)


End file.
